


Spiders Stick Together

by TastyBrownies



Series: Peter Has No Sense of Self-Preservation [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Doesn't Want to Deal With Stuff, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter can be stupid sometimes, Peter feels guilty, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, black widow is awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 08:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastyBrownies/pseuds/TastyBrownies
Summary: Everything is fine with Peter. It really is. He's handling it.Well, no, he isn't, but nobody needs to know.Unless they're a superspy. In which case they probably already do.





	Spiders Stick Together

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of "Hurt Little Spider" and "Responsibility Is Not Just Using Your Powers For Good", so you should read those first to understand what's going on :3  
> So, I am planning to make this a full series about how Peter meets some of the MCU's characters he hasn't met yet, and... other things...  
> edit: about half a year later here I am changing this fic WELP  
> if anyone waited for me to update this I'm sorry!! I had a really busy school year and ZERO motivation and inspiration, but I will try to do better :)

Peter found it hard to go back to normal after The Octo-Incident (as he decided to dub it). Not because he wanted to talk about what happened, god forbid – because everyone else seemed to. Ned had been worried sick, only hearing about what happened when he got back to Queens from his weekend out of town with his parents. He made sure to say so when Peter finally returned his calls.

“You could have died, or something!” He said emphatically over the phone, and Peter’s brain was too strung-out to dial down his senses, so he had to hold the phone away from his ear to stop his head from exploding.

“Honestly, Ned, it was nothing. The important thing is I’m fine now.” Peter said, almost whispered, because even his own voice was loud to his ears now. It’s not that he didn’t appreciate Ned’s concern – he did, truly. He just also happened to really _not_ want to talk about what happened. It was useless, anyway. He was the superhero in this situation – he was supposed to give the support, to be the inspiring, hope-inducing figure in dangerous scenarios. Not the one to babied and given support.

“But…”

“Ned, please.” Peter really did whisper now. “Honestly I just want to sleep it off.”

Ned sighed noisily.

“Fine. But call me in the morning!”

“I will.”

Ned hung up, and Peter turned a guilty look at May. After spending the Saturday in, he thought she would be better, but she still seemed upset. He sighed and opened his arms – a hug invitation. May sighed too, the tension draining out of her shoulders, and let him envelop her in his arms.

“I really am sorry, Aunt May. I’ll tr- I’ll be more careful from now on.” He didn’t know if he was telling the truth, but he knew he had to try, at least for May’s sake.

***

Going back to school almost gave him whiplash. Moving from caring family members and billionaires to indifferent teachers and _Flash_ in the span of one weekend was disorienting to say the least, and Peter’s nerves were still raw from the whole ordeal. He walked through the halls with his head down, trying to block out all the noise, and being entirely unsuccessful in this endeavor. He started wondering if he’ll ever get a handle on his senses.

“Peter!” Ned’s voice sounded like a beacon, and Peter immediately looked up to search for his friend. He made his way over, squeezing in between students and trying to keep his breathing under control.

“Hey, Ned, what’s up?”

“Dude, what’s up with _you_?”

“I already told you, I’m fine.” Peter chuckled nervously, pulling the strap of his backpack tighter over his shoulder. Ned gave him the stink-eye for a few moments, but then conceded and started telling Peter about the newest addition to his Lego Star Wars collection. Peter was thankful for the distraction – that way he could focus on Ned’s familiar voice and not… everything else.

He managed to hand in all of his assignments, which he counted as a definite win, and even managed to do relatively well on a pop quiz in History, but he was more than ready to get the school day over with. Actually, it was more than that. He didn’t just want to get out of school – he wanted to go _home_. Which, of course, for most people would be normal, except that Peter spent the last six months of his life wishing he could get school over with so he could go on patrol. But now? Now he just wanted to get home, crawl under his blanket and stay there forever. It didn’t matter that he wanted that, of course. He would go on patrol anyway, like he always did, because his city needed him, and he could never abandon his duties like that. He made sure to call May and let her know he’s going to stay out for a while, then stashed his backpack in an alley ( _god_ he hoped it didn’t get stolen again, that’s the last thing he needed right now), suited up, and swung up to the roof, trying his best to ignore the headache he had already developed in school.

He swung around for a bit, keeping a look out for anything out of the ordinary. Eventually he circled back to his backpack and pulled out his homework, deciding to finish them earlier rather than in the middle of the night.

As he was wrapping up his Spanish homework, his ears twitched, picking up something not too far away. Peter tilted his head, trying to understand what he was hearing. It sounded like… a couple of guys catcalling someone. Peter abandoned his homework and followed the sounds.

In his time as Spider-Man, Peter faced all kinds of douchebags. But these ones definitely seemed to take the proverbial cake. There were four of them, and they were ganging up on someone. Someone who looked completely helpless, too.

“Hey!” He called, landing in front of the person. “The douchebag party is two blocks over. You missed it!” He fisted his hands. The gang all looked at each other, smirked, and lunged.

Peter dodged one punch and blocked the other, using the momentum to send his fist into someone’s stomach. He shot a web to one guy’s hand, sending him toppling the other two over. He turned to look at the civilian in harm’s way, to make sure they were fine, when suddenly someone grabbed him from behind, choking him –

He couldn’t breathe. He knew he just needed to punch the person holding him, do something, but his arms weren’t responding. His lungs weren’t working – he tried to inhale but nothing happened – his vision was swimming, just like at Octavius’s lab- No, no, no, don’t think about that!

Through the haze he somehow managed to see the civilian from before lunging at the person who was choking him, taking them down in a series of elaborate kicks, punches and twirls, along with the other three douches-

“Hey, c’mon kid, breathe with me,” He distantly heard someone say. “Breathe in, two, three, c’mon…” his hand was pressed against something solid, and it was rising and falling, like his chest was supposed to be doing – right, he was supposed to inhale... exhale…

After what felt like ages, he finally got his breathing under control. His vision cleared- he looked up to see a familiar face staring back at him. He couldn’t quite place it – blonde hair, calculating green eyes… but then he thought back to the crazy moves the person in front of him pulled on the thugs, and everything fit into place.

“You’re the Black Widow.” He said, breathless. Her eyes hardened, but she gave a curt nod.

“And you’re the Spider… Kid. Whatever.”

“Spider-Man.” He said weakly. He was silent for a moment. “Thank you. That was… lame of me.”

“You had an anxiety attack. That’s not lame, that’s life.” She sighed, looking away. She fidgeted. “Well, I need to get going.”

“I’m sorry for- This.” He gestured vaguely at the street. She stopped, narrowing her eyes.

“I heard what happened.” She said abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

“Octavius.”

“Oh.” Peter swallowed thickly. His heart skipped a beat – he forced himself to breathe normally. “It… was nothing.”

“How old even are you?”

Peter bristled.

“Does it matter?”

She chuckled.

“I guess not.” She looked ahead for a minute, thinking. Peter got to his feet, fiddling with his web shooters. “Ah, Chiort.” She muttered, then sighed. “Against my better judgement, I’m going to make you an offer. I’m going to give you a number. You ever want to get real training, you call that number. You ever need help dealing with what’s going on up there-” She tapped the side of her head- “You call that number. Nothing more. No personal nonsense.” She held out her hand. Peter’s eyes widened. Black Widow raised one perfect eyebrow, and Peter scrambled to dig his phone out and place it in her hand.

“Let me be very clear about this-“ She grabbed his hand painfully as she handed him back his phone- “You do not tell _anybody_ about this. _Especially_ not Stark.”

“Of- of course, Ms. Widow-or, uh, Ms. Romanov? I, uh-“

She exhaled through her nose, long suffering, but her mouth twitched in an imitation of a smile.

“Thank you.” He said reverently.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t.” She turned to leave, giving Peter a small smirk. Peter almost saluted, but stopped himself, remembering he should keep at least some of his cool. After a few seconds, he could no longer see her. He stood there, rooted to the ground. When his phone rang, he almost jumped out of his skin.

“Hey, Ned. Let me call you back, okay? I’m on my way home.” He hung up, and shook his head once, twice, rubbed his eyes – but the number was still there, under the name “Assist.” Peter stared at it for a while, tapping his foot on the ground, before deciding. He quickly changed the contact name to "Spider Mentor", and started on his way home.

***

Peter didn’t tell anyone about meeting Ms. Romanov (obviously), so he couldn’t even get any advice as to how the hell he was supposed to contact her. Would she read a text? Would it be weird if he called her? What does he even say? “Remember me? Yeah, I’m the loser with the anxiety attack, can you train me?”

He shook his head to himself, earning a chuckle from MJ. Oh, right. He was at school.

“You look like you’re experiencing death by cringe.” She announced, going back to her drawing.

“Yeah, well, there’s this... person, that I need to contact, and I don’t know how.” He sighed, looking at MJ. She looked at him for a moment, seemingly waiting for something.

“Well don’t look at me. I’m horrible at human interaction. Probably worse than you, and that’s saying something.”

“Gee, thanks.” Peter deadpanned.

“Dude, I don’t know, just call them or something.”

“Yeah, I think I will. Thanks, MJ.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She smiled, and somehow that made her statement just about 15 times more ominous.

***

_Beeeeep. Beeeeep. Beeeeep-_

_Click._

“Um, hello?”

Silence.

“It’s Spider-Man. You, um, gave me this number, in case I ever wanted to get training?”

“57th and 3rd. Boxing ring. 8 pm.”

“Okay, tha-“

_Click._

“-nks. Never mind then.”

***

Peter arrived in his mask and suit at 5 minutes to 7. It’s always important to make a good first impression, or so May always said. Well, the first impression was ruined forever, but at least he can make a better third impression. Honestly, he felt kind of weird just hanging around in his suit outside the building – but he wanted to keep his identity as secret as possible. (Who was he kidding, if _Black Widow_ wanted to know, she would. She’s a super-spy.)

“You’re going to have to change out of that.” Black Widow’s voice sounded from behind him, startling him out of his thoughts.

“The suit? I-I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t have any other clothes-“-which, honestly, he should have learned to have after that incident with Mr. Stark and the ferry – “-and also, secret identity?” he definitely did _not_ squeak. Black Widow glared at him silently.

“I’ll wait.”

“Oh.” He said dumbly. “Do you want me to go back and...?” He gestured to himself, and she crossed her arms, all while glaring at him. “Yeah, okay, gotcha.”

An embarrassing trip home and change of clothes later, Peter stood in sweats and an old shirt in front of Black Widow once more. She raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment on his age or appearance. She only said: “You’re slow.”

“Sorry.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, following her inside.

The next time they met up for training, Peter brought two liters of water, a ready ice-pack, and a towel.

***

“Hey Parker! What happened to your face? Did your _friend_ Spider-Man get sick of you and punch you in the face?”

Peter ignored Flash and his annoying laughter (followed by a chorus of other douchebags laughing) and kept walking to his locker. Bruises usually faded quick, but Black Widow had been ruthless the day before.

“Hey loser. What happened?” MJ leaned on the locker next to his, and Ned stood next to her, looking concerned.

“I- tripped. On my shoelaces. And fell.” He stuttered. MJ raised one eyebrow in a terrifyingly good impression of Black Widow. Peter shrugged.

“Whatever.” She said, then left. Ned looked at Peter, concerned.

“There wasn’t anything on the news yesterday. And you almost never have bruises. What happened?”

“I’ve, uh...” Peter tried stalling, but he knew he couldn’t keep the truth from Ned much longer. He settled on half-truths. “I’ve been training. Like, wrestling and stuff.”

“But… shouldn’t that be like, really easy for you? ‘Cause you have the Spider-strength and everything?”

“Ned, shush!!!” Peter frantically looked around, motioning to his friend to quiet down. “My trainer’s just really tough, is all.”

“…Right.” Ned side-eyed him. “You’d tell me if something was up though, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Peter said without much thought. He’s fine – what was Ned worried about?

“It’s just.” Ned started. “I’m kind of worried, after the whole, y’know. Octo-Incident.” Ned said, aiming for gentle, but Peter still stumbled. Peter tried to mask it but failed spectacularly. “You okay?” Ned immediately entered Worried-Friend mode.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Peter said, a little breathless. He straightened, taking deep breaths like Black Widow showed him the other day. It wasn’t helping. Why wasn’t it helping? He couldn’t breathe. What if this was it? What if he could never get over it? What if someone mentions it during a fight and he freezes up like this-

“Whoa, Peter, you gotta breathe, man.” He heard Ned’s voice cutting through the white noise in his head, but his lungs didn’t respond. “Okay, okay, um, you’re fine, you’re safe- you’re here in Midtown, we’re in the hallway, it’s just us and some kids from school, no super-villains or anything, just breathe, Peter.” Ned hovered above him – _above? When did Peter sit down? –_ continuing to reassure Peter. After a few more attempts, and listening carefully to Ned’s words, Peter finally managed to breathe.

“Thanks, Ned.” He said weakly.

“Of course.”

“How did you know to do that?”

Ned looked sheepish.

“I… kind of, maybe, sort of read about PTSD and anxiety attacks after what had happened. You know, just to be safe.”

Peter looked up at him in awe. He didn’t deserve such a good friend.

“What now, Parker? Trying to make out with the floor?”

Peter’s expression soured, and he was getting ready to get up when suddenly MJ appeared out of nowhere and coolly said: “Go find some other person to have a one-sided jealousy-induced love-hate relationship with, dickhead.” Leaving Flash to sputter, gradually turning redder and redder.

Peter blinked.

“Thanks.” He said, unbelieving. MJ shrugged and helped him up.

Correction: Peter didn’t deserve such good _friends_.

***

“Okay, I know I said no personal gluposty, but I can see something’s bothering you. What is it?”

Peter fidgeted for a moment, still not quite used to the whole Black-Widow-Can-See-My-Face-And-Read-My-Emotions thing.

“You remember the- the, uh, anxiety attack I had, the other day?”

She nodded.

“Well, um, it happened again. It’s been… happening more, lately. Even with things that didn’t bother me before. And I need to know how to- how to stop it, or control it, or whatever.” He half-mumbled, words tumbling out of his mouth in a mess.

“You can’t completely stop it from happening. Controlling it isn’t easy. In fact, it takes a certain amount of self-restraint, that, quite frankly, you don’t seem to have.”

He looked up at her, then. There must’ve been something in his expression because Ms. Romanov rolled her eyes and exhaled sharply.

“Look, kid, it’s okay if you need help with these things-“ It was clear she was trying to sound comforting, but it was even clearer that she wasn’t used to this thing. Peter decided to change the course of conversation – in all honesty, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear anyway.

“That’s not the thing – I don’t _want_ to need help.” He straightened up, determined. Ms. Romanov studied him for a moment, then seemed to reach some sort of conclusion, because she blinked and set her shoulders.

“Okay.”

***

“So, can I see some of your new moves?” Ned asked one day.

“What?” Peter startled out of his spiral of thoughts.

“You said you have a new trainer, right? So, can I see what they taught you? They must be really badass if they can kick your butt.”

Peter scoffed.

“Oh, believe me, she is.” He almost slapped a hand to his mouth. _Why was he so bad at this? Might as well tell Ned “oh hey, yeah, Black Widow is training me in martial arts”_.

Ned shrugged.

“I can’t really show you, though.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I have to be fighting someone.”

“Oh. I guess you’re right.”

“You could always punch Flash in the face.” Mj appeared behind them.

Peter and Ned both jumped.

“ _How_ do you _DO_ that?” Peter asked, almost getting the shivers. Almost no one could sneak up on him with his now enhanced senses- although, actually, that wasn’t entirely true. He didn’t notice Ned that one time, and then May…

“You’re just really bad at noticing things.” She said, stabbed a fork into her salad, and went back to reading her book.

***

Peter grunted, trying to pick himself up off the floor.

“Come on, get up.” Ms. Romanov almost ordered. Peter clutched his side, trying to take a breath. Despite having superhuman speed and strength, he has yet to land a single blow on her. He finally got to his feet, panting.

“You throw everything into your punches. That’s why you lose your balance easily – making it easy for me to take you down. You’re naturally light on your feet – use that.”

“How?”

“Don’t throw your whole body into your blows unless you want to drop your opponent to the ground. You need to be able to dodge – for that you need to aim for sensitive spots and keep your weight center back, so you don’t fall forward.”

“…Right.”

“Here, let’s try this.” She said and grabbed a square punching pillow. “Punch the pillow.”

Peter looked to her, then the pillow, then back to her.

He shrugged and threw his fist forward. Ms. Romanov took a step back and he stumbled forward.

“See? That’s what you shouldn’t do. Now try to do the same, but use only your arm, not your entire body. Keep yourself centered.”

Peter nodded and tried again.

***

A week and a half later Peter could proudly say he finally managed to punch Black Widow in the jaw.

Once.

But it still counted!

The point was – yes, he was incredibly sore, and yes, he might’ve sprained most parts of his body, _but_ he was making progress. He was kicking criminal butt much faster, which gave him more time to study, which in turn helped his grades go up, and spend more time at home which made May much happier – things were looking up.

Which is of course the reason why _something_ had to go horribly, terribly, wrong.

It started like any other day. He took the bus to Midtown, blasting music in his earphones. He was trying to focus on one thing at a time – the crowded buses always made his already dialed up senses go haywire. Someone jostled him – it felt like electricity shot through his veins and he barely kept himself from jumping. He blasted his music louder. Someone was breathing down his neck, there was no air, the bus smelled like sweat and rubber – it was too much all at once, he couldn’t focus –

He forced himself to breathe. Just like Ms. Romanov taught him. In, _ignorethesmellignorethesmellignorethesmell_ … out. And again…

Peter slowly opened his eyes. His senses seemed to balance out – the music came back to focus in his ears and he no longer felt like jumping out of his own skin at the slightest jostle.

There. Possible oncoming anxiety attack: averted.

And then the bus exploded.

***

Coughing. That’s the first thing Peter heard when he woke up. He somehow distantly realized it was his own. _Not again…_

He opened his eyes. His hands were tied – he felt that – but they were tied pretty loosely. He could probably tear them if he wanted to. He seemed to be in a warehouse of some sort… probably kidnapped from the bus…

_Oh fudgesticks._

If he was kidnapped, that means someone had access to his bag. They could figure out his secret identity, and then May and Ned and-

Oh no, never mind, there it was, in the corner of the room, and it seemed untouched.

Time to take stock of injuries.

He didn’t feel any burns, so maybe the bus hadn’t exploded – he did feel sharp cuts on his face and along his right side. So, it’s more likely the bus was rammed from the side. That would also explain the bruised ribs.

“So.” Someone entered the room. Peter snapped to attention. “Peter Parker, huh?” The speaker sneered. From what Peter could see, he was about 6 feet tall, wearing a black leather jacket and holding something small and black in his hand. He walked with confidence, not even looking at Peter most of the time. “How old even are you?” Peter startled. “You know what, that don’t matter. You her son or somethin’? ‘Cause it’s either that or you got a death wish.”

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Peter stammered. Damn, he had to ask Ms. Romanov how to sound tougher.

**_Oh._ **

He was probably talking about _Ms. Romanov._ Well, now Peter _knew_ he couldn’t give this dude what he wanted.

“Listen, kid, I don’t wanna have to use this, but I will if you don’t start talkin’.” He showed Peter the black thing from before. It was a taser. Darn.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, seriously. Who are you looking for? My parents are dead, so you’re definitely not looking for my mom, please just-just let me go-“ Peter tried to appeal to the man’s pity – he did say they didn’t want to hurt him after all.

“Oh shut up.” He slapped Peter across the face. Well, so much for that. Time to work on those ropes. “You gonna tell me where Natasha Romanov is, or you’re gonna get it.”

“Natasha Romanov? Who’s that? Is that like a politician or something? Oh my god is that a mobster?” Peter let his mouth run as he focused on untying the ropes (tearing them would look a little suspicious).

“I swear to god, you really do have a death wish.” The man said, then electrocuted Peter. The taser was meant for normal people, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but it brought back some unpleasant memories. He seriously needed to focus on the ropes.

“LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU.” The man shouted in his face. Peter scrunched his eyes shut. The man punched his jaw, then tased him again. “I saw you with that bitch in that boxing ring. What, you her message boy or some shit? Get her intel?”

“I-“ Peter gasped as he tased him again, this time with more force. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Just then, Peter heard something crash. The man spun around frantically. Suddenly, Ms. Romanov dropped from the ceiling onto the guy’s neck, getting him in a chokehold with her thighs and taking them down in a matter of seconds. By that time Peter managed to undo the knots.

“Nye trogai moyevo pauka.” She said to the unconscious body on the floor.

“Woah, what did you just say?”

“Eat dirt, douchebag.”

“Cool.” Peter looked at her, wide eyed.

“Let me see your hands.” She demanded, and he put his hands forward. She examined the rope burn (it would fade in less than an hour), then grabbed his chin and moved it from side to side, examining his face. “Good news. You’ll live. You need to get those shards of glass out of your face.”

Peter nodded obediently.

“Don’t think this gets you out of practice tomorrow.” She smirked.

Peter blinked.

She _smirked_.

This was the best day of his freaking life. _Black Widow smirked at him._

“Wait wait, how did you find me?” Peter asked before he could stop himself. Ms. Romanov shrugged.

“I heard there was an accident.” She said and left without elaborating. But that didn’t make any sense. There were a bunch of accidents every day, she couldn’t possibly know someone was kidnapped –

Unless.

Unless, she knows what bus he always takes, and when she heard about the accident she wanted to make sure if he was okay.

_Wow._

Peter grabbed his bag, immediately pulled out his phone and changed Ms. Romanov’s contact name.

_New message to: Mama Spider_

_9:00 am: Hi Ms. Romanov! Thanks for saving me, and for everything else._

_9:01 am: It's Peter btw_

(The next time he saw her she had black hair, dark brown eyes, and was wearing a yellow sundress. He _knew_ she did that to avoid being tracked – that dude who caught him could tell his evil buddies what she looked like – but it still felt nice to know she cared about him.)

(She still kicked his butt.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Kudos and comments as well as criticism are always appreciated, just be gentle, I am fragile ^^  
> Translations:  
> Choirt - черт - heck (used like "shit")  
> Gluposty - глупости - nonsense  
> Nye trogai moyevo pauka - не трогай моего паука - don't touch my spider
> 
>  
> 
> [ Buy me a coffee :) ](https://ko-fi.com/tastybrownies)


End file.
